Old Habits
by Hoodoo
Summary: Snape rages. Snape spits. Snape reflects on the misery that is his life. Not the most uplifting stuffokay, so the later chapters are. Chapter 7 up.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J ****

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and various companies. Any others belong to myself. This is written for entertainment purposes only, not for financial gain. No copyright infringement intended.

****

Note: With so many angsty Snape + someone fics out there, I couldn't help but jump in the fray. Angst plus original character? My favorite words.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Old Habits

Chapter 1

Because of his particularly vile mood, the students in Professor Snape's Potions classes were more subdued than normal. There was very little noise from the dungeon room: the grinding of mortar and pestle, small choppings of various herbs, the occasional 'pop!' of a bubble breaking free of a thick liquid. The students themselves cast each other worried looks, but no one—not even arrogant Draco Malfoy—tempted Snape's wrath by whispering. 

The silence and tension suited the Professor fine. Black thoughts tumbled through his head as he stalked between the cauldrons and the children huddled around them. He barely realized he muttered wickedly to himself.

"Um . . .sir? P-professor Snape, s-sir?" A tentative voice broke through his concentration.

"What is it?!" he screeched, turning on his heel, looking like a great bird of prey swooping on a helpless victim. His black robes swinging behind him added to the illusion.

All the students jumped and watched with wide eyes. Neville Longbottom, who'd been the one to dare speak aloud, seemed to shrink under Snape's piercing gaze.

"I'm s-sorry, sir, Professor Sn-snape," he stuttered, "but . . . it's . . . time for lunch."

Snape's eyes glittered. "Ten points from Gryffindor," he hissed, "for Neville Longbottom being presumptuous." Neville winced. Snape ignored it and continued. "All of you—out of my sight! I want a written report of the differences in the ingredients and techniques of voodoo potions and our own! Now get out!"

In record time the students had cleaned up, packed their supplies, and hurried out the door.

Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and walked back to his desk. He didn't remove his hand as he sat down.

How could they—! Snape's brooding rushed back to him in force. Did no one in this school understand, did no one _comprehend _anything he had to say?! He had long ago given up the notion that anyone cared for his opinion, but to blatantly ignore it? To _laugh _at him?

When Headmaster Dumbledore mentioned he had hired a guest teacher, Snape had protested immediately. He remembered the way the rest of the staff rolled their eyes and shook their heads when he did.

"Do you have to object to _every_ new teacher Albus hires?" Professor McGonagall said stiffly.

"After all these years, it's tradition!"

Several of them present covered their mouths to smother chuckles, even as Snape glanced angrily around the room. Turning back to Dumbledore, he noticed that infuriating hint of a smile on the Headmaster's face. Snape took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, "it's only for Muggle Studies, not the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. And she's only a guest. She shan't be staying for the entire school year."

And he could protest no more, not without more laughter.

But deep in his heart, Snape knew that once she was here, she wouldn't leave. The students would find her fascinating, the staff would adore her, and he would—

"Hey there, Big Bad." A voice interrupted his silent tirade.

Snape sucked in his breath and snapped his head to the doorway. The woman there leaned against the frame easily, a faint amusement playing at her lips. It reminded him, furiously, of Dumbledore's secret smile.

He sneered back.

Without thinking his actions through, acting on his first impulse, Snape stood up and stomped across the room. He brushed passed the woman roughly, refusing to look her in the eye. 

"I'm late for lunch," he snarled, and began making his way up the stone stairs.

"You can't avoid me forever, Severus," she called after him.

Internally he flinched but made no indication of it for her to see. In a second he was up the stairs and out of her sight.

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J ****

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and various companies. Any others belong to myself. This is written for entertainment purposes only, not for financial gain. No copyright infringement intended.

****

Note: With so many angsty Snape + someone fics out there, I couldn't help but jump in the fray. Angst plus original character? My favorite words.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Old Habits

Chapter 2

The rest of the day was no better than the morning. With his mind filled with murderous and angry thoughts, Snape was especially harsh on his students and himself. His half-under-his-breath mutterings, instead of fading, increased. In the back of his mind he wished to be so rabid Dumbledore would dismiss him.

Thoughts of that nature made him cringe.

Finally, his day was done.

Carefully he gathered up and replaced his personal artifacts from the classroom to his office. The routine of it, sorting, straightening, and inventorying, calmed him a bit. He took a second to think over the next week's lessons. That focussed him a little more, and he locked his office behind him feeling more composed than throughout the rest of the day.

Swiftly he made his way through the corridors to the teachers wing. He had a vague idea where _she_ was staying, and didn't care. As long as it was far enough away that he didn't have to see her or hear her, all was well. The weekend stretched before him, he simply had to avoid her.

Snape whispered an unlocking spell on the iron latch of his door, and entered. He sighed with relief, thinking he should have a bath, and then a long sleep. He'd brought a special potion from his office to be assured his slumber would be dreamless.

"Man. It takes you forever to get up here. Classes have been done for forty five minutes."

The semi-peace he'd managed to achieve evaporated. Black rage again filled him. He glared at her, comfortably lounging in front of the fire.

"What are you doing?! How did you get in here?!"

"Those Muggles. They come up with the most amazing stuff." Idly she fingered a set of lock-picking tools.

He watched those artistic fingers hold up one instrument after another. A lock of hair escaped from behind her ear, shining copper in the fire light. Snape shook his head, rattling loose the anger again. "How dare you invade my personal quarters?!"

"Big Bad, can't you at least be polite?" she asked in reply.

"WHAT?!"

"Oh, come on. You know how," she continued. Mimicking his voice, she said to herself, "Why, hello, Celeste. It's been so long since I've seen you. How have you been? Very well, thank you. And yourself, Severus?"

His anger made him tremble. His normally pallid cheeks were decorated with bright spots of color. He took deep painful breaths and crossed the room in only a few strides. Snape grabbed her upper arms and yanked her to her feet.

Celeste yelped.

"Get out," he spit, literally, at her.

Face to face with him, his pupils dilated and his pants shaking them both, Celeste relented. She dropped her eyes.

"I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. I found this—" she managed to pull a small bit of paper from her robe, he glanced at it, "—and it got me thinking. About old times. I thought you might want it."

Snape released her. Her arms felt bruised. 

He looked drained. "Get out," he managed to croak, refusing to look at her again.

The paper fluttered from her hand. Celeste slowly made her way to the door. She paused before going through.

"Take care of yourself, Big Bad," she whispered. "I'll . . . see you around."

"Don't call me that," Snape said under his breath. 

But she was gone.

His head feeling stoned, Snape's knees agreed and gave out. On the floor he found the slip of paper—a small photograph, actually. A photograph of Celeste. And himself, long ago and far away. Laughing. Kissing. Happy.

A tortured cry twisted its way from his throat, and sobs choked him. 

Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to crush the picture.

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J ****

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and various companies. Any others belong to myself. This is written for entertainment purposes only, not for financial gain. No copyright infringement intended.

****

Note: With so many angsty Snape + someone fics out there, I couldn't help but jump in the fray. Angst plus original character? My favorite words.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Old Habits

Chapter 3

Instead of the bath, instead of the dreamless sleep he'd promised himself, Snape sat in front of the blazing fire, staring blankly into the flames. The house elves had brought a bottle of wine from the cellars at his request. He had drunk too many glasses to remember the count. His hand was too unsteady now to pour more.

Clumsily he picked up the photograph again and blearily watched the couple within it. Celeste-in-the-picture took that moment to kiss Snape-in-the-picture soundly on the mouth. Snape-in-the-picture grinned.

As it had many times before, the photograph lazily floated to the floor, no matter how hard he threw it.

So many memories . . . Snape covered his face and pulled his hair in an effort to pull them from his mind. But that tactic refused to work.

_ . . . a young child, black haired and black eyed, awkward and shy. The sting of bruised ribs as he took each breath. Approached by a neighbor girl as he sat in the garden, kicking at gnomes. _

Come over, she asked. 

No.

Come on! At least go inside, it's raining and cold.

A shudder passed through him at the thought of returning to his own house, where 

it was even colder.

Then you have no choice. Come over. My mom insists.

So he had. Frightened at what may be behind other people's doors, knowing too well the shouting and beatings behind his, he followed her slowly.

What a difference! A Muggle father who collected Muggle record albums and read stories to them, a witch mother who baked and made them drink large glasses of fortified milk for some nutrition with their cookies. 

They played, they laughed, they sang along to the funny Muggle songs her father had on the jukebox. They had adventures outside, climbing trees to find bird's nests and following the creek. They acted out the fairy tales read to them. 

(Her favorite was Little Red Riding Hood. She, of course, was the girl—what did it matter that her cloak was green instead of red?—and he played the wolf. Several times they pretended it but changed the ending, so the Wolf wasn't split open and he and Little Red Riding Hood lived happily ever after . . .)

She almost always called him 'Big Bad' after that, and always smiled when she said it.

Some times they even played outside in the rain, because deep down inside, he really liked the rain. It was so clean, especially after a thrashing. They came regularly, and in the back of his mind he knew it was because he had fun with her. He decided he didn't care.

He wished it would never end, but like most good things in his life, it did. Her father was transferred to America. She was leaving. 

The day before she left he told her in a fevered way he wanted Little Red Riding Hood to be real, the way they made it real, with a happy ending together forever. She grinned fondly at that, and teased that he would have to become a werewolf for the fantasy to be true. He thought if possible, to make it real, he would.

The day she left his father beat him into a concussion. He never saw her go . . .

Snape lifted the wine bottle and stared at the amount left, vaguely wondering if his liver could possibly handle another dose of alcohol. If only another swallow would block the recall his brain insisted on! 

Then, he thought, it couldn't hurt.

Another swig burned his throat.

It didn't help.

__

. . . she wrote to him, an owl at least once every other month. Her letters were full of the strangeness of America, but the excitement she had there too. He rarely wrote in reply: what could he tell her? His beatings were more frequent? He had learned to be silent and sly, to avoid any attention? That with no escape to her home he was slowly but surely being educated in the ways of sarcasm and hate?

Then came the wondrous day of his acceptance to Hogwarts. He had gone straight to the Owl Post and sent a quick note—written in trembling penmanship, he was so ecstatic—to her, to tell her of the miracle.

And her reply, with it's gentle scolding that of course he'd be accepted, what did he expect? and a post script that she'd been accepted too, wasn't that incredible?! They should meet in London to gather school supplies together . . ..

Snape groaned. "But you didn't meet her in London, did you?" a low voice asked in the back of his mind. "Your father saw to that."

"Shut up!" he shouted to the empty room.

__

. . . his father saw to that. When he caught wind that his son was going to meet that half Muggle girl, he told him once and for all it was beneath a Snape to associate with shit. He would beat that into his boy, or kill him trying.

He never made his appointment to meet her in Diagon Alley. On the Hogwarts Express he managed to find an empty compartment. He didn't remove the hood from his head, even alone. He heard the whispers of the other students as he silently pushed passed them, and knew instinctively unpleasant rumors were being spread of him. 

Sternly he told himself it didn't matter.

Minutes after the lunch cart passed his compartment another knock, more frantic, rattled the door.

Don't answer and they'll go away.

But the handle turned and she stepped inside.

She was overjoyed to find him, and so worried because he hadn't shown up like he'd promised and why won't he talk or push back the hood? Wasn't he happy to see her?

She sat beside him and squeezed his hand, and insisted that he turn to her. Reluctantly he complied.

She gasped at the black eyes and broken nose. Amazingly, she cried for him. It startled him a bit, her tears; he'd lost the ability to cry ages ago. Her fingers gently stroked his discolored cheeks, and soothed his swollen split lip. 

He leaned against her, basking her compassion, and feeling that now, maybe, things would again be good . . .

He sneered at his own naiveté.

__

. . . she held his hand tightly during the Sorting, until he was called and placed into the Slytherin house . . . 

He never told her he'd crossed his fingers when she took the seat, begging silently she'd be placed with him. He never told her about the sharp pang of disappointment as she made her way to the Ravenclaw table.

_. . . they had classes together, of course. And they always studied together when the library was mostly empty. And later, in sixth year, when he began to realize she was attractive, they stole quick hungry kisses in dark alcoves. _

But by then he had gained many Slytherin traits and knew without a doubt his life would be very difficult if his House learned of his passion for her. It was already brutal enough with those bloody Gryffindor Marauders hating him.

She didn't understand why he became more cautious around her. She declared she didn't care what anyone else thought. He couldn't explain why he was in such a delicate situation. He wanted more than anything to be with her, but to defy Lucius Malfoy was suicide. With many of the Slytherin house joining in support of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, he felt he had little choice.

His choice had been made, in fact, before graduation and the farewell ball. When Lucius had promised him he could have his revenge on the Marauders, on his father, on whomever he chose, he agreed.

The decision wavered while they were dancing. He realized, with a start, it was one of the only times in their seven years they'd been seen in public together. She hadn't lied; she didn't care that people were pointing and gawking at them. She pressed against him comfortably and smiled up at him.

It gave him the strength to tell Lucius no, he changed his mind.

For a few months after leaving Hogwarts they traveled. He was content to simply be with her as she decided to pursue Muggle Studies. They had good times together. He was incredulous he could reach out and touch or hold her whenever he wished . . .

Intoxicated with the wine and fumes from the fire, Snape's thoughts became more tattered. He could almost imagine the feel of her against him, like so many years ago. His throat ached.

__

. . . she wanted to take a job in America. She had left ahead of him, leaving him to finish their business in Britain . . .

. . .he learned his father was sick, dying; she wanted him to go back. Make amends. Feeling forgiving, he had gone. His father spit in his face.

Then he only felt foolish.

Then Lucius contacted him, reminding him of his earlier agreement. Lucius had whispered he understood the lust for a woman, but men thought so much clearer without their influence. Wondered aloud if he'd reconsidered . . .

. . . still smarting from his father's latest rejection, he agreed . . .

. . . the horror of standing before Voldemort, the agony of the Dark Mark branded into his forearm . . . 

. . . the more twisted agony knowing he could never ask her to join them, that he'd lost her . . . 

. . . the odd relief that his father had died before he had used the Unforgivable Curse against him as he'd been ordered . . . 

. . . the emptiness beside him as he slept . . .

. . . the sweet knowledge she was somewhat safe for now, across the ocean . . .

. . . the painful comprehension that his decision separated them irreparably, that he could never be close to her again . . .

. . . the self-hatred and loathing that consumed him more day by day . . . 

The fireplace held almost nothing but embers now. Snape's head throbbed and he was nauseous. The feeling of self-pity was a familiar one but stronger than normal. It was all Celeste's fault. She had to return, and force him to deal with the torturous memories locked in his head. And, as unfathomable as it was, he needed to see her right now.

Unsteadily Snape got to his feet. He stumbled to the door and out into the hall.

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	4. Chapter 4

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Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and various companies. Any others belong to myself. This is written for entertainment purposes only, not for financial gain. No copyright infringement intended.

****

Note: Thanks to everyone who's read and enjoyed my first fic based on the Harry Potter universe. You guys are great!

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Old Habits

Chapter 4

A crashing, clanging racket shocked Celeste from deep sleep. 

"Damn poltergeist!" she swore aloud. "He'd better be long gone by the time I get out there!"

She scrambled out of bed, pausing only to throw a dressing robe over her night clothes. The din outside her door was less now but not gone. Automatically she picked up her wand and a can of pepper spray. She shook her head at herself and put the spray back down.

"Too long with Muggles," she muttered, and flung the heavy door open.

"That's it, Peeves! I'll call the Baron and Dumbledore both here, _right now,_ if you don't stop—"

Her exclamation was choked off as she saw the rude ghost was no where in the corridor. Instead, a very distraught suit of armor was grudgingly supporting Professor Snape.

"Severus!" Quickly she crossed the hall to him. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night!"

He attempted to answer, but only managed to slur something at her.

"Well, come inside before someone sees you. You—" she tapped the suit of armor lightly, "—can let him go. I'll help him now. Thank you very much."

With a sigh of relief, it complied. Celeste, thankful the corridor was narrow and Snape was thin, braced herself against him and eased him to her room. His drunken uncoordinated gait made it difficult.

Once inside she set him on a chaise lounge in front of the hearth. In two movements she locked the door behind her and commanded a fire to light. 

"Oh Severus," she whispered, watching him.

"Celeste," he mouthed. He screwed his face in determination and said aloud, "Need to see you. Right now! Know you hate me. But I . . . tell you. Tell you . . .."

"You need to be sobered up," Celeste told him. "Then we'll talk about whatever could be so important that you made a tanked spectacle of yourself in the hallway. Okay?"

"S'okay."

Celeste left him for a moment. When she returned, she forced two small tablets into one of his hands and a glass of water in the other.

"Wass?"

"I'm no potions master, but I can do some things. Extra special aspirin, Severus. Take them both and you'll feel better."

With no hesitation he swallowed the pills. He didn't use the water. Celeste reflected on how easily he trusted her. She sighed and sat on the floor in front of the chaise lounge, staring at the fire until he came around.

Her wait was short. Within fifteen minutes, Severus carefully set the full glass of water on the floor beside her. She turned to him.

"I've made quite a fool of myself today, haven't I?" he said quietly, not looking at her. "Several times."

She didn't answer.

That unnerved him. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"I . . . I came to say I'm sorry."

Celeste very carefully took his hand. She replied, "I understand—"

Snape jerked his hand away. "No you don't," he interrupted sharply. The characteristic bitterness was back in his voice. "You don't understand at all. It's not just for today, for my actions your first trip back to Hogwarts. I'm sorry for all these years. For everything. You can't understand!"

She took his hand back. "Then tell me."

Hurt and rage, his constant companions, swirled dangerously close the tip of his tongue. It was easier to lash out, to hold everyone at bay with sarcasm and the undeniable attitude he was superior. He opened his mouth to snarl a venomous response—

Celeste watched him without blinking.

—and instead the apologies and explanations that he had always yearned to tell her spilled from his lips. Once he started, it was hard to stop. There was an urgency to get it all out, bring all the blackness bottled inside into the light for her to see.

She let him talk and talk with few interruptions. At the end of an hour, after the narration of his Death Eater activity and his dawning abhorrence of their practices, interspersed with remorse of being who he was, his throat was parched and his eyes burning. Celeste handed him a cup of sweet hot tea. He hadn't noticed her brew it. He accepted it gratefully.

As he drank, she said, "Severus, I know you have more you want to tell me. But you're exhausted. Why don't you stay the night here, on the lounge. After you sleep you can go on with everything else."

His black eyes glanced quickly into hers. "I'm afraid . . ." he began, desperately, "I'm afraid if I stop I'll never be able to start again. I'd like to finish it now."

His tone was wretched. Celeste relented with a nod. With no warning, Severus stood up. He offered a shaking hand to her.

"Will you come off the floor? Will you sit with me?"

With a slight hesitation, she nodded again, and grasped his hand. Pulling herself up, she gave him a gentle shove and moved to his position on the chair. He looked surprised.

"Hey, if you're going to talk the rest of the night, I'm going to be comfortable," she shrugged. "So you too. Take off that heavy robe. Did you even know you were still wearing it?'

It was his teaching gown. He hadn't.

Still looking dumbfounded, Snape slowly removed the outer garment. Standing in only his pants and shirt, the room was suddenly chilly. It didn't last long, however; Celeste reached for him and pulled him down on the chaise in front of her. 

Snape sat stiffly with his back to her, between her legs, even as she wrapped her arms around his stomach.

He jumped as her breath hit his neck, near his right ear. "Relax, Big Bad, I won't bite," she told him softly. 

"Why are you forcing me to sit like this? After all I've done to you . . . you must hate me. You're torturing me, aren't you, and taking sadistic pleasure from it!" he exploded, startling her. His voice was as stiff as his back.

Celeste considered before answering. "No," she drawled, "you asked me to sit, and I wanted to be comfortable."

"You hate me," he repeated with finality. 

"I don't hate you."

He turned sharply to her, his black eyes flashing in the firelight. His voice was soft but challenging. "How can you not?"

Again she sighed. "I was devastated when you didn't come back, Severus. I heard rumors you'd joined the Death Eaters, and I refused to believe them, but you didn't return and you didn't write and eventually . . . I realized it was true."

An arrogant triumphant look replaced the fury in his face.

"I wanted to come back to Britain, to find you. My friends wouldn't let me. They knew it was suicide to come back here. They told me once a person joined You-Know-Who, they were gone forever; that there was no reason to come back. I knew they were right.

"I still received all the newspapers. Your name was cleared, but by then so many years had passed without talking to you I didn't even know how to start contact again. And you didn't try to get in touch with me."

"I didn't know how either," he said under his breath.

Celeste continued without interruption. "My friends thought I was crazy—once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, they said. And I was caught up in work . . .." She gave herself a shake. "So. The point is, deep down inside I didn't give up hope for you. And it's been so long, even my anger and grief of you not coming back mellowed out.

"I don't hate you now, Big Bad. For awhile I did, but I let it go."

Severus had turned away from her during her answer. His eyes lost their anger, lost their triumph, and were hooded.

"You trust too easily," he muttered.

"And who simply swallowed two unknown pills when I handed them to him?" she retorted loudly.

He barely muzzled an insolent, "I was drunk!" and wisely clenched his teeth.

It became apparent he still wouldn't lean back against her, but she didn't release him. After a few minutes of silence she suggested, "Why don't you go on? Please."

He had to wet his lips before continuing. Once he started again, though, the urgency drove him again to get it out. Get it all out. And little by little, in degrees, he eased back against her. Now he was telling her of his decision to leave the Death Eater ranks, of wild fantasies to flee to America, of suicide to escape, of Albus Dumbledore's solution. Of the defeat of Voldemort by Harry Potter, and how he believed he'd be free of the Dark Mark forevermore. Of the horrible pain that consumed his being when it blazed black again during the Triwizard Tournament the previous year. 

Here Severus stopped. He realized Celeste's fingers were lightly caressing the skin of his left inner forearm. A shudder passed through him, and the pressure of her chin was on his shoulder.

"I shouldn't have made you come back," she told him.

He took a sideways glance at her. "What?"

"You came back to England because I insisted. Because I thought you should see your father again. You hated him, Severus, for everything he did to you, but you came back here because of me. If you hadn't, maybe . . .."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe Lucius Malfoy wouldn't have tempted you back to You-Know-Who."

"Celeste," he replied, his voice steady, "Lucius Malfoy hadn't forgotten me. It 

wasn't coincidence he found me here when I returned. If I hadn't, they would have found another way to bring me back. Or they would have followed me across the Atlantic, and forced me to make good on my promise.

"And that would have been infinitely worse, because then they'd have had you too."

"I wouldn't have joined the Death Eaters!" she blurted.

She caught the sadness on his face as he said, "I know. I meant you wouldn't be here now."

There wasn't much to say after that.

They sat silently for a bit, Severus watching but not seeing the fire and Celeste 

watching him. Eventually, biting her lip, she rested her cheek on the back of his neck. A slight tightening of his shoulders warned her she'd best proceed carefully.

"This is nice," she whispered, then even quieter, "Severus, I missed you."

He didn't answer. The rigidity of his posture didn't ease. 

Celeste cursed herself, and forced a laugh. "Well, that was incredibly awkward. I'm sorry. And that usually means it's time for me to back-pedal and you to make a hasty retreat. So please, feel free to go. I won't be insulted It's late anyway. Maybe we can have breakfast together later, if it's not too weird—"

"Celeste, stop babbling."

Severus was watching her with unreadable eyes. 

"Oh!" she faltered. "I'm sorry, I was just—"

A raised eyebrow stopped her this time. A second passed.

"I've missed you too," he admitted humbly. "I wish I could have back all those years."

". . . yeah."

He settled against her comfortably again, and she held him securely. By the time the fire was out, the morning sun had just begun to creep in the windows, and they were both asleep.

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	5. Chapter 5

****

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and various companies. Any others belong to myself. This is written for entertainment purposes only, not for financial gain. No copyright infringement intended.

****

Note: A short chapter of interlude. Time frame: a couple of weeks have passed since Celeste's arrival at Hogwarts.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

Old Habits

Chapter 5

Neville Longbottom and a skinny Hufflepuff fifth year stopped her in the corridor as she left the classroom. With the changing of classes, the tide of students looked upset at the unmoving trio until they realized one was a teacher.

Neville and Sara had multiple questions about her last lesson, Muggle music. Celeste answered them both, assuring them if they paid attention in class there would be no trouble with the quiz. She offered them extra tutoring in her office if needed.

As she was about to set up a time to meet them, a hand took her elbow. The two students' eyes widened slightly.

"Professor Yolen," Professor Snape interrupted silkily, turning her attention to him, "I must see you immediately."

"One moment, Severus. I was arranging tutoring—"

Snape's eyes slid oily over the two students in front of her.

"I must insist," he replied in a low tone. "It is a matter of some urgency."

"Um . . . that's okay, Professor Yolen," Sara said. "Neville and I can catch up to you later."

Neville nodded in agreement, and the two students hurried away. Even as Snape guided her away, Celeste heard Neville say,

"I'd hate to have Snape hunt me down for an urgent message!"

Snape didn't release Celeste's arm as they strode through the hall. Classes were about to start again, and the most of the remaining students hurried passed them to not be late. Although curious as to their destination, Celeste was surprised when he paused abruptly and swung her into an unused side corridor.

He backed her up to the wall, and without even casting a glance to make sure they were unobserved, kissed her solidly on the mouth.

She made a startled sound of surprise, immediately muffled by his tongue invading her lips. The kiss was hungry, insatiable, and after the first moment of amazement Celeste found herself holding him even as he pressed against her. Their tongues entwined erotically.

Finally Severus broke contact for air but didn't move away. He panted into her mouth as he watched her.

"You're exquisite," he murmured with a throaty undertone.

"I remember you used to say that when we were in much more intimate positions," she teased, just as softly.

He closed his eyes and gave a muffled moan at the memory. When he reopened those bottomless eyes he coaxed, "Say you'll spend the night with me tonight, Celeste. We've skittered around it long enough."

Celeste paused.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he demanded. The deep lust hadn't left his voice. 

She could very easily feel what she did to him; even heavy teaching robes left little to the imagination as he pressed to her. Impatience radiated from him, commanding an answer.

Celeste touched her tongue to her lip, coyly, before saying,

"Big Bad, I—"

"You know, it's usually the students we must pry apart in the corridors."

Both Severus and Celeste startled like deer and automatically stepped apart guiltily. Neither had heard Dumbledore's approach.

He stood, a slight smile on his face as the two teachers attempted to straighten their robes and stutter an apology. They made a point to not look at the other. Dumbledore finally had to break the awkwardness himself.

"Oh, don't mind me. I simply need to speak with Professor Yolen regarding those delightful Muggle records she loaned me. Please, finish your conversation."

The two were silent.

"I believe you were about to answer Severus, my dear," he prompted Celeste.

She gave Dumbledore a tight smile and turned to Snape.

"Severus," she said formally, "I think this discussion would best be completed at a later time. Nine o'clock, your room?"

"That would be acceptable," he replied, just as formal. With a quick glance toward Dumbledore, he leaned close again, his mouth near her ear. "Wonderful. I await with feverish arousal, love."

Severus moved away again. Catching Dumbledore's eye, he gave a curt nod.

"Headmaster."

With a rustle of his robes, he turned and was off down the hall. Celeste watched him go.

"I haven't seen a look that wistful in a long time, Celeste," Dumbledore interrupted quietly.

"That's because I haven't been back here long," she replied distractedly.

"I'm also pleased to see Severus is capable of another emotion besides rage and guilt."

Celeste knew better than to correct Dumbledore. Her tongue, however, didn't. "That's low, Headmaster. You know exactly what Severus is capable of."

"Yes I do," he replied quietly. "I meant to say I'm pleased he is comfortable enough to express himself. I apologize for misspeaking."

She nodded. With an effort not to think about what he'd feel when she left, Celeste forced a smile at Dumbledore.

He returned it. "Now let's see about those records, shall we?"

Celeste nodded and walked with him to his office. Her thoughts, however, stayed with Severus.


	6. Chapter 6

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Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and various companies. Any others belong to myself. This is written for entertainment purposes only, not for financial gain. No copyright infringement intended. Also, there's a brief mention of Christian Slater. He belongs to himself.

****

Note: This chapter contains references to slash. If it offends you, I'm sorry. But you've been warned; don't come crying that you've been traumatized if you read further.

Enjoy!

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Old Habits

Chapter 6

She'd forgotten the smell of his bed.

But falling onto it, fumbling frantically with belts and robes and buttons, hungry lips rediscovering sensitive flesh, the scents—musk, a bit of sulphur, _lavender?, _and leather—filled her head with wanton desire. 

The evening had started innocently enough in front of the fire. Severus had had the house elves bring up his favorite red wine from the cellars and they shared a glass comfortably. They both knew where the night was headed. The thought of it made Celeste chuckle though a mouthful of wine.

Severus watched her with puzzled amusement. "And what, pray tell, could possibly be so funny? Two adults enjoying each others' company?"

It made her laugh out loud. "It's funny because! Because I'm sitting here pretending I don't just want to drag you to your bed, and because I think you're pretending the same thing. Because we'd both rather be acting like hormone-crazed teenagers, but we feel like we need to act civilized!"

She broke into harder laughter. Her glass threatened to spill the remaining wine from it. Severus carefully took it from her.

He stood up. "Well, come along then," he instructed, offering a hand.

"Wha—?" she replied, wiping tears from her eyes. She took his hand; he pulled her up against him. "Where are we going?"

"To the bed, of course. We can behave like adolescents, but we can also be refined enough to not stain our backs on this horrible couch."

Celeste snorted in laughter again, even as he lead her to his bedroom.

She stopped laughing when he kissed her passionately. It was an electric touch, and her mood shifted immediately from giddy to carnal. He felt it too, and the wild undressing began, and suddenly she was plunged into the overwhelming scent of him.

And now after, the smell of sweat and sex predominated. Swaddled together, sated, they drifted between sleep and awake. Celeste pressed so close to him he felt her eyelashes brush his chest as she blinked.

"Gods, I've missed you," he murmured into her hair.

She lifted her head to smile at him. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"No."

"Hmm," she disagreed, rested her head again.

"That was eloquent. Is that what you say to all the boys?"

"Only the special ones."

Severus pinched her lightly. "The special ones?" he joked. "Who might they be? I'll need names, love."

"Why?"

"So I can hunt them down, of course."  


"You won't be able to do much magical damage without the American Ministry deporting you."

"These men—they're Muggles?"

She nodded. He felt her smile against him. Silence for a moment.

"Well?" he insisted.

"Well what?"  


"Their names, please."

She sighed, but not in an annoyed way. "There haven't been many, Big Bad. The most memorable was Christian Slater."

Severus gave a slight shrug to indicate he didn't know the name.

"He's a Muggle actor. Good looking. He reminds me of you, a bit. He was fun."

"That's past tense. You aren't seeing him now?"

"Nope. I couldn't bring myself to tell him I'm a witch. I honestly don't know how people in a Muggle relationship hide it. Or don't hide it, for that matter. And I doubt he'd have understood anyway."

The spark that felt a bit like jealousy was extinguished in Severus's chest. He squeezed her tighter and kissed her forehead. They didn't speak for awhile, comfortably. Finally Celeste broke the silence, asking,

"And what about you, Big Bad? How many women have you laid since I've been gone?"

"The Americans have made you crude."

"Don't change the subject!" she warned, and bit his chest.

"Crude and bitey," he declared. 

She laughed and nipped him again, harder.

"Ow! All right, Celeste, you asked. Since we've been apart, I've not had a woman."  


Celeste looked up at him with narrowed eyes, obviously not believing him.

Severus repeated, "Truly. I've not shared my bed with a woman."  


"Hmm," she said again, still studying him. "I find that very hard to believe."

As she watched him, though, she noticed he had a difficult time keeping eye contact with her. Putting two and two together she slyly rephrased her question.

"Okay then. How many _people_ have you laid since I've been gone?"

He started guiltily.

"Aha!" she exclaimed. Celeste immediately jammed a finger into his side, causing him to spasm. It had been a long time since they'd been together, but she still knew which spots made him ticklish. 

Severus, to his own chagrin, howled involuntarily with laughter. "Stop it! Stop it right now, Celeste!" he demanded between gasps.

"Tell me who you've slept with!" she demanded equally. "Come on, tell me!"  


She was taking too much pleasure from this torture, Severus thought to himself. He was helpless under her fingers, even as he struggled to fight her off and get away. Finally, with his sides aching and his throat raw, he wrestled her hands off of him. He held her wrists tightly, catching his breath.

"Oh, fine," pouted Celeste. "I'm sorry I tickled you."

"So am I."

She gave him a dirty look and settled back into his chest. Reluctantly, expecting a trick (she'd pretended to be done and attacked him again when his guard let down, several times), Severus hugged her again. He listened to her breathe, and felt her relax gradually, easing closer to sleep.

It surprised him how quickly they'd felt comfortable together again, he mused. Most women would have, at the very least, refused to even speak to him again. Celeste acted as though her feelings ran as deep as ever for him. And what of his own feelings? If their positions had been reversed, would he have so easily bedded her again? Would he even have been civil to her? 

Severus didn't want to delve that deep into his psyche tonight.

She deserved her answer. But he didn't know how she'd react, and so waited until he felt she was nearly asleep.

"Lupin," he whispered almost inaudibly.

"Lupin? _Remus_ Lupin?" she said clearly. He'd forgotten she was as good at faking sleep as she was at tickling.

Severus nodded self-consciously.

"You slept with Remus Lupin." This wasn't a question.

"Yes. While he taught here, I had a brief affair with Remus Lupin."

Celeste shifted until she looked directly at him. Her face was unreadable. "That's what I thought you said."

She fell silent. His guilt grew as he waited. He had never admitted his association with Remus was so intimate to anyone; he had convinced the entire staff and most of the students that he despised the well-liked professor. They knew he concocted Remus's monthly potion as a favor to Dumbledore. No one had suspected that he had a physical relationship with the lycanthrope.

"So . . ." Celeste pondered slowly. Severus closed his eyes to shut out the disgust he imagined on her face. "You slept with Remus Lupin. Had sex with Remus Lupin. One of the Gryffindor Marauders, who made life hell for you at school. The same Remus Lupin, whom, I believe, is a full-fledged werewolf."

None of her statements were questions. Severus could only nod a quick, ashamed agreement.

"So you really were trying to become a werewolf. To make Little Red Riding Hood true."

Startled, he dared open his eyes. Celeste was smiling fondly at him.

"Did he bite you?"

"No," he answered.

"Did you want him to?"

The playfulness in her voice caused him to blush. It made her laugh, and that made him realize she _didn't mind. _Severus couldn't believe it, but grinned.

"You did, didn't you!" she teased. When he still didn't answer, she surprised him with a kiss. "That 'big bad' stuff took root in your brain!"

Celeste laughed again.

He was finally able to find his voice again. "I've missed you, love. You're unbelievable."

"So're you," she answered before he hugged her tightly.

After she had truly fallen asleep next to him, Severus thought about her reply. He didn't think she meant it as deeply as he had.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: any recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and/or Warner Bros. Any other characters may or may not be recognizable.

Enjoy!

Old Habits

Chapter 7

The hedge maze was slightly overgrown. The bushes were bare of leaves this late in the season, but their twisting branches formed an even more solid looking barrier. A thin layer of frost added to the illusion of impenetrability. Privacy would be completely assured if the same frost didn't advertise footsteps so loudly.

"I know you're upset."

Silence.

"I didn't lie to you. _Dumbledore_ didn't lie to you."

Silence.

"You knew this was coming."

Silence.

They walked a little further.

"Damnit—would you say something?"

Silence.

"Fine. Fine! If this is how you want it to be, if this is how you send me off, fine! Act like a sullen child. But you did know I was leaving. It wasn't a secret. I was here as a guest, and now I have to go. I have projects to finish in the States."

Silence.

" . . . I'm sorry if you got the wrong impression. I'm sorry if you feel like I've led you on, or used you, or whatever. I didn't! I was happy to see you, I _am_ happy to see you, and . . . and. And I wish I didn't have to leave. There. I said it. I wish I could stay here with you."

Silence.

"The way you're acting, though, I'm not sure if you want me to stay."

Silence.

"You're acting like . . . I don't even know! Are you mad? Mad that I came back? Are you acting this way because you're unhappy I'm leaving? What is it?"

Silence.

"Would you _say_ something?"

Silence.

" . . . fine then. Be however you are. I wish you would answer me, but I know I can't make you do anything."

Silence.

"I guess . . . I guess I'll see you around, Big Bad. I'll write. And if you want, if you're at all inclined, maybe you could . . . write back, you know?"

Silence.

"O-okay. I'll miss you."

With resolve, she turned on her heel and walked away. A low spoken reply barely reached her ears.

"I _am _glad you're leaving."

She spun to face him again.

"What? You're _glad _I'm leaving?"

"Yes."

Of all responses, his admission stunned her.

"W-well. Good. I'm glad to go too! I hope I haven't wasted too much of your precious time or diverted too much of your precious energy! I'll leave you to your surly, raging self!"

Her voice rose at the end of her outburst to almost a shriek.

In several strides he was by her side again.

"I'm glad you're going back to the States. It's safer there for you."

"And it's safer for you too, isn't it? If I leave?"

Venom dripped from her voice.

"Yes. Yes, of course it is."

Silence.

"In my heart, I don't want you to leave. But for both our sakes, for both our lives, it is for the best. We're both aware of that. No one—not Albus Dumbledore, not any living centaur, not the Dark Lord himself—can predict the outcome of this war. No one knows what turns it may take.

"I'm concerned for my own safety in more ways than you know. I can't—I won't explain it. But believe me; _believe me_ when I tell you I'm more fearful for you. Your involvement with me will be truly be your death if . . .."

"If what?"

"If certain people find out."

She studied him for a long moment.

"I do wish you could stay. I will miss you. I wish we could have the time we lost back."

Silence.

"Do you believe me? Do you trust me?"

"Severus . . . yes. I trust you."

A very brief smile softened the corners of his mouth.

"I will write you. I don't want to lose touch again."

"Nor do I, Celeste."

She nodded, and took his offered arm. They continued their way through the maze, accompanied by the echoes of their footsteps. Nothing more passed between them aloud.

Silence was now easy and companionable, and both were glad for it.


End file.
